


Under the Canopy of Silence

by jiokra



Category: due South
Genre: M/M, Post-Canon, the Hand of Franklin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-24
Updated: 2017-12-24
Packaged: 2019-02-04 16:08:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12774606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jiokra/pseuds/jiokra
Summary: Ray didn’t need to know that Fraser thought of him as the immutable destination called home. Fraser wasn’t inclined to cut short their impermanent arrangement.





	Under the Canopy of Silence

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mific](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mific/gifts).



> Thank you to my betas, Ride_Forever and feroxargentea. ♥

Beyond the campfire and its corkscrew smoke vanishing in the black air of night, and if one gazed past the warm pile of huskies sleeping off the day’s ride, achieving then the insurmountable by ignoring the silver of fresh snow in jarring contrast to the dark subalpine firs and their shadowy descent into the woodlands, after all of this, one might notice the silence.

In either direction and in all the detours in-between, any journey led Fraser to only the silence. The stillness of the snow was broken only by the crackle and pop of flame, the rustle of fabric and shift of leather, a yawn or a howl or a whine—human intervention. But in this vast, uncharted expanse of nature, humanity was a rare creature.

It might drive others insane, but Fraser felt a calm settle over him that he hadn’t felt even when this vast wilderness was last his home. A novelty accented the dogs’ steady strides in the snow and the hundreds of paw prints in their wake. Perhaps Diefenbaker plowed ahead with greater certainty now that he had returned to his natural habitat, his wolf instincts ill-suited for Chicago in ways neither of them had realized.

Yet he felt chilled, like omens lurked in the night, corrupting that sense of calm. The cold bit at him, a breeze drifting across the vacant space beside him, Ray’s seat by the fire.

Ray had ducked out for a private moment among the trees not a minute ago, and this loneliness by the fire ought to have made Fraser feel at home. It had been his life once. Only the glimmer of stars had once lit his night, Diefenbaker beside him and sled dogs to guide them. But a discontentment had befallen the land, however irrational the notion might be. The terrain remained unmarked. The dam his father died for still drowned deer. The stars twinkled, the stoic trees stood tall, and the snow blanketed the earth, but it felt different. Deep down, Fraser knew the cause: Chicago had changed him.

The man now wandering among the trees had changed him.

Fraser’s ear piqued perpetually in the direction Ray went. Even now, a thrill of unease coiled within him, waiting for a sign that Ray might soon return. It warranted admonishing, but Fraser didn’t care anymore.

 _Like he’d been laced with kinnikinnick_ , his father had said. Something in the air stirred, felt like his mother, and it had traveled all the way south to Chicago, where, for all Fraser knew, his mother had never set foot. Perhaps home wasn’t location.

Of course, he supposed that in his case the relevant word was kinnikinnick.

They had covered a treacherous path together, crossing a narrow passage along a mountain’s steep ledge. They had constructed the bivouac in silence, haunted by memories of the endurance and the lingering crash of adrenaline. At supper, Ray had spiked their hot tea with the rum he’d been saving for a special occasion ever since he managed to find a rare village that sold it.  _I do not care if we’ll never find another, Fraser. I do not care. We’re downing the bottle. We almost got us killed again and I need this._  One drink had led to another, and Fraser felt as if he were both floating and seeing the hidden poem of life, every sad, distressing metaphor of it.

Tree branches snapped and snow crackled—Ray coming out of the woods. Fraser glanced at the shadows of the trees, seeing nothing but hearing it all the same. He caught the first flicker of a kerosene lantern and shoved himself face forward, stabbing a stick into the fire. Embers crackled and flames broke off, suffocating in the cold air and sizzling into steam in the snow.

Ray didn’t need to know that Fraser thought of him as the immutable destination called home. Fraser wasn’t inclined to cut short their impermanent arrangement.

Ray crashed onto the log, slamming into Fraser. He draped an arm over Fraser’s shoulders, the other flung out with the lighted lantern swinging, and shouted into Fraser’s ear, “You gotta see _—_ _wait_.” He fell into Fraser, forehead pressed on his shoulder. Fraser didn’t know how to react, so he sat still, frozen solid. Ray whispered into him, “We need to be quiet.”

“Quiet, Ray?” said Fraser, low and matching Ray’s subdued pitch.

Ray nodded, his hat scratching Fraser’s cheek. Then he wrapped his hand around Fraser’s, sneaking gloved fingers between his. The makeshift fire poker fell abandoned into the snow as Ray knotted their fingers together, squeezing.

“This way,” he said.

With only the kerosene lantern to light their path, they crossed into the shadowy depths of the forest. The lantern oscillated as they went, the skeletal shadows of trees scattered over fallen burls and mounds of snow. With Ray’s hands both indisposed, Fraser brushed aside errant branches and pressed a hand to Ray’s back between his shoulder blades when a deceptive mound Fraser bet was a rock blocked their path.

Ray slowed and pulled Fraser behind a tree, settling the lantern down on a flat rock and pointing ahead into the murky expanse. He leaned in close, breath tickling Fraser’s ear and warming him.

“This would never—nothing like this in Chicago,” whispered Ray.

Fraser ignored the tension building in him, the heightened senses of his ear and the hand still in Ray’s grasp. He squinted at the darkness beyond Ray’s finger point. A small quip lingered on the tip of his tongue, a polite turn of phrase alluding that Ray had too much spiked tea, only then he spotted the caribou.

Hidden beneath the overhang of a low seated pine tree, they could only just be seen. Snowflakes dusted the chestnut fur of the caribou curled up around her calf, the ear of the youngling twitching in its sleep.

Ray was whispering into his ear again, and Fraser couldn’t stop himself from squeezing his hand.

“Beats indoor plumbing, huh?” Ray chuckled. The warmth of it pricked Fraser’s ear, a wave of nerves firing along his neck and raising every hair on his scalp. “You know, at first I wasn’t so sure about this whole wilderness survival thing. I mean, it’s nice and all, living it with the ultimate Boy Scout on the planet, but it’s just—look at them. You don’t see that in Chicago. You don’t see that anywhere but here.”

Fraser had to step away, lest he commit a regrettable act. His hand fidgeted to shake Ray off.

Ray stiffened. “I said something wrong, didn’t I?”  He shrank back, and Fraser felt hollowed out by the little signs. Worrying lines dramatized by the lantern. A dark, endless sorrow in his eyes that Fraser didn’t think was fault of the rum. They hadn’t had enough, regardless. Spiked tea tasted worse than caribou blood and a splash of whiskey. “Sorry. It’s—”

Fraser frowned. “You didn’t say anything wrong.”

“Okay, then. So, uh—you cold?”

Ray didn’t meet his eye. In fact, were Fraser to deduce the direction of Ray’s stare, he suspected his own mouth. Fraser licked his lip from nerves, but Ray jolted at the movement. In a split second, it became clear to Fraser: Something _had_ changed.

Neither of them were here in this wilderness for just the Hand of Franklin. In fact, they hadn’t sought for it in much earnest at all. On Fraser’s part because their very arrangement terrified him—the isolation with only Ray here, with no one else in the world at his side but this bewildering man and their histories in relationships of this caliber. Fraser ignored the rising panic pleading him to stop before he made a mistake, but he didn’t want to overthink anymore.

Ray leaned against the tree’s thick trunk and grasped Fraser’s shoulder. Fraser stepped closer, and Ray’s hand fell till his palm lay flat across Fraser’s chest, the many layers of clothing their only separation. Fraser felt Ray’s breath on his lips, until he felt no breath at all. Ray withheld it, haunted blue eyes locked on Fraser’s.

Blood rushed in Fraser’s ears. His short breaths only accentuated Ray’s inability to do the same. His heart seemed overheated, spurred to escape his coat and ravish the subfreezing air.

The silence of the woods ruptured the fraught quiet between them.

Ray broke it. “Should I call you Ben?”

Fraser’s gaze flicked to his mouth. “If you want.”

“Oh—okay. _Ben_.” Ray sucked in a breath and giggled it out. Fraser smiled. “Just asking ‘cause—we’re standing a little close, dontchya think? A wind could just come by, and boom. Smoochin’.”

Fraser felt like a cat who had cornered the mouse. He settled a hand on Ray’s waist and felt him buckle. “Smoochin’, Ray?” he said, feigning naivety.

Ray flung his head back against the tree and swallowed, the sinews and bob of his throat pronounced. “You know... Mouths, a certain...proximity.” He whined, low and quiet, but deafening in the woods. “Dammit, Fraser. I know you know what smooching is.”

Smirking, Fraser brushed his lips across Ray’s throat. “I’m sorry, Ray.” Perhaps his tongue flicked across soft, sensitive skin as he spoke. “As you know, I am not up to snuff with the street talk.”

A growl vibrated beneath his lips.

“ _This_ ,” said Ray, and he held Fraser’s cheek, pressing him away, but Fraser didn’t go far before Ray crashed into him, chapped lips kissing him. The rough leather of his gloves scratched Fraser’s ear, the enthralling sensation intermixed with the gentle press of Ray’s lips and the warmth of his tongue as the kiss deepened, filling Fraser with heat. Fraser pressed Ray back into the tree and kissed him with equal fervor, nipping as the pace changed.

Ray tore away, panting. “ _That_ is smooching, Fraser. Capisce?”

Fraser licked his lips, and since they hadn’t moved much at all, he licked Ray’s lips as well. “I’m a little hazy on the details. Does this qualify?”

He bit Ray’s bottom lip and suckled it, digging his fingers as well as he could into Ray’s waist, with a slight regret at having pushed him against the tree, preventing the possibility of gripping him elsewhere. Ray groaned and kissed Fraser’s mouth open, shoving in his tongue. The lingering burn of rum still in Ray singed him, and Fraser relished the pain of it, of Ray’s groaning as a slight tremble shook beneath his hand. Fraser shoved himself against Ray, thigh perched beneath his groin. Ray collapsed onto him, and Fraser seized his face with both hands, caressing him and kissing him as if that were the only thing keeping him upright.

Ray shook his head, and Fraser pulled away. Eyes still closed, he heard Ray mumble, “Fraser, I can’t do this while I freeze my ass off. My body is confused.”

Fraser thought to tease him, as Ray’s spontaneity had led them into the woods in the first place. Instead, he asked, “Should we return?”

“Yes—yes.”

Ray kissed him briefly and snatched the kerosene lantern, seizing his hand and pulling him away.


End file.
